


Matrimonio

by conceptofzero



Series: California King [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackmail, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7551250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matchsticks is furious with himself. He’s also angry with Itchy, but if he’s really honest, he’s the most angry with himself for all of this. None of this would be happening if he hadn’t ended up head over heels for Quarters. And none of this would be happening if he’d paid more attention when Doze let it slip that Itchy was showing an interest in photography. He hadn’t paid any attention to that little tidbit at all, assuming Itchy was probably just planning on making porn for himself.</p><p>That wasn’t entirely untrue. He did make porn. It’s just unfortunate that apparently it featured Quarters and Matchsticks, taken through a crack in their hotel room window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matrimonio

Matchsticks is furious with himself. He’s also angry with Itchy, but if he’s really honest, he’s the most angry with himself for all of this. None of this would be happening if he hadn’t ended up head over heels for Quarters. And none of this would be happening if he’d paid more attention when Doze let it slip that Itchy was showing an interest in photography. He hadn’t paid any attention to that little tidbit at all, assuming Itchy was probably just planning on making porn for himself.

That wasn’t entirely untrue. He did make porn. It’s just unfortunate that apparently it featured Quarters and Matchsticks, taken through a crack in the hotel room window. It wasn’t even just the fucking, which at least they could have dealt with. Maybe it would have been embarrassing if the others knew they were sleeping together on the side, but they could have shrugged that off. 

But Itchy had gotten everything, including when Matchsticks and Quarters lay together in bed afterwards and kissed. It had been a really nice memory for Matchsticks, right until the envelope with the photos arrived. Now it’s sour and tainted. 

"Hey, eyes on me." He snaps his fingers a few times when Matchsticks isn't quick enough, and the shit-eating grin spreads right over his face when he gets Matchsticks’ attention back on him. "Theeeere you are. Sit on the bed, babe, and smile real fucking nice for me.”

Matchsticks sits, but smiling isn’t exactly on the menu. He can’t fake his way through it. He doesn’t even try, his shoulders hunched as he stares down the barrel of Itchy’s camera like it’s the scope on a gun.

Itchy just snaps at Matchsticks again, treating him like a dog in need of training. “Cooperate, c’mon. Lips up, grimace if you gotta, just fucking do it." 

Matchsticks manages that at least. His lips pull up and he grimaces at the camera. Itchy snaps the photo, his thumb winding to the next set along the film strip. "I'm not letting you snap photos after photo-"

"Who's in charge here again? Who's got those nice incriminating photos? Was that you? Because if it's not you, then I guess that's me. And if it's me-" And presses his hand to his chest, the little shithead mocking Matchsticks, "-then I'm the one who's in charge? Ain't that right? You wanna say that so you and I both remember it?" 

Matchsticks wants to deck Itchy. But he's got to think about Quarters and what he would do if those photos got out. That would be the end of it. No more stars for them. Quarters wouldn't even hesitate, he'd end their relationship in a heartbeat, just so the others couldn't hassle him about it. And Matchsticks can't think of anything he couldn't live with more than never getting those quiet little monthly motel getaways.

Even fucking Itchy isn't anywhere near as bad as never getting to have those again. 

"You're in charge." He says and the words are real bitter in his mouth. Itchy just grins bit, pleased as can be by it. 

"Okay so, now that we're all clear as fucking crystal, give me a real smile. I know you've got it in you." He raises the camera again and Matchsticks just closes his eyes and feels his hands flex up into a furious clench before they relax. It's fine. He just has to get through this. So. He raises his head. He opens his eyes. He smiles. Itchy snaps the photos. 

"Can we move on?" Matchsticks voice is much more civil than he feels. Itchy cackles at it but he puts the fucking camera down and actually comes over to the bed. He flops beside Matchsticks, ending up in a tangle of asshole limbs. The moonheaded bag of dicks sprawls out and snaps his fingers, pointing to a spot just in front of the bed. Matchsticks sighs, heaves himself up, and stands in it. 

He spreads his arms wide in a now-what gestures, pretending for a moment like he doesn't know what's next. It's not that this is going to make it any better, but at least playing dumb gives him a little control. It makes it a touch less humiliating that he's standing here, jumping through every hoop that Itchy holds up. 

"Give me the show. C'mon, I know you can do it. I've got the pics." And he did, glossy photos of Quarters watching while Matchsticks undressed himself. Itchy stays where he is, half-lying on the bed, grinning eagerly as Matchstick starts on the cufflinks. 

He's got a system down, something methodical that also looks good. It's not a strip show like they have at the bars. Instead, of titillating, it's meant to be exciting, a promise of everything coming as soon as he's done with the proper order. Cufflinks out and set down in the clean ashtray on the end of the dresser. Tie out and folded up. Shirt buttons next, his hands making their way down and his thumb gently slipping the button back through the eyes and opening a bigger and bigger V down his chest, pausing only to untuck his shirt and start on the last few. 

"Fuck, this is hot." Itchy says and Matchsticks pauses, the meat of his thumb pressing into the sliver of button. He looks up, shaken out of the peacefulness of the routine. Itchy seems to know he's shaken him and he just smiles even bigger. "They could put you up on stage at The Saltshaker. I'd fucking pay to watch it. But then again, I don't have to pay, do I?" 

Matchsticks ducks his head down and gets back to it, opening his shirt up. But Itchy's loud this time and as he starts on his fly, he interrupts again, making it all too obvious to Matchsticks that he's being watched by the wrong man. "Look at that fucking package. C'mon, unwrap it for me babe, let me get a real good look at what you've got tucked away." 

He gets his pants off and folds them up, same as he slips off his shirt and folds it up too, setting both on the dresser. Undershirt next and he goes for the garters-

"Nah nah, come here, come right here, right now." Itchy demands and Matchsticks walks over as he's told to. He stands in front of the mattress and Itchy gets his hands on the elastic, pulling them back and then letting them go, snapping them on the soft flesh of his thighs. Matchsticks hisses in pain and Itchy does it again, his fingers rubbing over the temporary red marks left behind. "Fuck that's good. That's real good. He do that to you? Lemme tell you, there's nothing that feels better than watching your face get all twisted up over this." 

"Just-" Matchsticks says and bites back his words a moment too late. He's trying not to feed Itchy's ego here. He's trying to make this boring so he can get through it, so it can be over. 

But speaking up only makes it worse. It always makes it worse. Itchy runs his hands over Matchsticks thighs, stroking along the insides. "Just what? Just hurry it up? Just let you suck my dick? Who did we say was in charge here? I'll go ahead and have you say it again, for the people in the back." 

Those hands slap his thighs. Matchsticks closes his eyes. He manages to spit it out. "You are-"

"I said, for the people in the back." Itchy grins and hits him again, two open-palmed smacks that make his cock leap a little in his underwear. 

"You are." He says, louder. Matchsticks guts are twisted up. He really hopes nobody else hears any of this, because if they do-

"That's right. That's fucking right. Okay, finish up. I wanna see you naked." He finally lets Matchsticks go, and he gets himself naked as fast as he can, the strip show forgotten entirely as he just gets his socks and garters and underwear off. Then he's naked and Itchy's still fully dressed, lounging on the bed. "Alright, now bend over and spread those cheeks for me. Give me a wink."

He's disgusting. Matchsticks doesn't bother saying it. It'll only encourage him. Matchsticks sighs and turns around, planting his legs into a V to keep steady before he starts to bend over like he's been told to. He grabs onto his knees and then slowly slides his hands down his legs as he bends over as far as he can, until his ass is the highest part of his body. Matchsticks is partly spread out already but he reluctantly lets go of one leg and moves his right hand back, setting it on his asscheek and parting it for Itchy to see. 

It's humiliating. His face is red and the only good thing is that he's facing the door so Itchy can't see how much Matchsticks hates that he's been reduced to doing this for him. He's spread himself for Quarters before, but because he was teasing him. It's different when he's doing it because he has no choice. It's awful and ugly and it's making sex into something filthy. 

"Look at you go. You fucking slut, you're better than half the whores I've had up here. It's probably 'cause you still have a sense of shame. That's what really gets my fucking crank going. How about you put those fingers in your mouth and get 'em real wet, and then you let me see you finger yourself?" Itchy laughs as he's 'suggesting' it to Matchsticks. 

He does it. Matchsticks brings his hand to his mouth and sucks on the fingers. He wants to have something to hold onto that's more steady than his leg but he doesn't dare move. He won't let Itchy see that he's reduced Matchsticks to wanting a chair to cling to. Instead, he just holds himself steady as he can and he reaches back again. His wet fingers land on his asscheek first, smearing saliva over the flesh there before he manages to get them to his asshole. 

Slow does it. He rubs up against his entrance, trying to untense himself so it doesn't hurt, but it's hard when he's being watched by the wrong man, and worse when his mind reminds him he's in the Felt mansion and somebody might walk into Itchy's room. If they do-

Fuck, if they do, he's going to die. 

"Yeah, this is the kind of shit I like to see. Fucking look at you opening up. Oh babe, this is fucking real sweet. Go on, fucking tuck a finger right in there. Don't just spend all night on the fucking foreplay." Itchy taunts him and Matchsticks closes his eyes, gritting his jaw for a moment before he relaxes. He can't get tense. He gets tense and this just lasts longer. 

So he stays relaxed. He starts rubbing the first finger in, feeling his entrance loosen up a little. As much as he wants to stay tense, he makes himself focus on how nice it feels to touch himself. Matchsticks knows exactly how he likes it best and just how to make it feel really good. How many times has he done this for Quarters, lying on his back on the bed? 

Maybe it's best if he doesn't think about Quarters right now. He doesn't want to taint those memories with these ugly ones he's in the middle of making. 

One finger slides in up to the knuckle and he starts on the second. The only good thing about all this bullshit is that Itchy's cock isn't anywhere near as big as Quarters. It's going to be a miracle if he actually comes being fucked by him. It's not a lot but it's something he can hold onto, one small oasis in this endless desert of humiliation. At least he won't like this. At least Itchy can't make up for his eternal deficiency. 

Two fingers in and Itchy wolf-whistles. Matchsticks rolls his eyes slightly and he breathes in through his nose as he starts to moving his fingers in and out of his asshole. It always feels good when he does this. 

"Alright alright, fucking enough. Hey, fingers out, look at me." Itchy claps his hands on his legs, a meaty sound. Matchsticks does as ordered and pulls his hand away, straightening up and turning around. Itchy's lounging on the bed and it seems while Matchsticks was bent over, he was getting himself undressed, his shirt gone and his pants somewhere on the floor. He just looks Matchsticks up and down and then flops onto his back fully. "C'mere babe, I got a seat riiiight for you, right here. I'll even clean it off." 

And the moonfaced smug shit pretends to dust his face off. Matchsticks grits his jaw but he's come too far to storm out now. He makes his way to bed and kneels on it, making his way to where Itchy lies. Matchsticks swings a leg over his head and for a moment, he's tempted to just drive a fist straight into Itchy's throat. 

Instead, he sits on his face, hoping that Itchy will fucking suffocate. He’s small enough, disappearing easily under the bulk of Matchsticks body, it could happen. Itchy, of course, not only doesn’t die - he just scoots his mouth into position and starts licking away. His tongue runs along the cleft of Matchsticks ass, starting just below his balls and trailing upward. He braces himself but no amount of preparation can keep Matchsticks from reacting when he feels that wet, warm tongue brush over his asshole. The flesh is so sensitive after being fingered and Itchy knows exactly how to use his tongue, just how to mold it over his entrance and prod inside, so soft and so wet. Matchsticks grits his teeth and his body reacts all the same, his cock twitching and his ass clenching. Itchy chuckles and keeps eating him out. 

Matchsticks is left kneels over Itchy, his eyes on the room to the door. Itchy just licks at him like a professional. And though he loves Quarters a lot, getting eaten out by him is always a bit of a pain. His mouth's usually in the way and it takes some creative positioning to get it just right. But Itchy's face is buried straight in Matchsticks' ass and there's nothing to slow him down, nothing to delay him from shoving his tongue in deep and stroking his way out. Matchsticks' fists ball up and he forces himself to breathe in and out slowly but it's so hard. It's hard to to react when everything Itchy does feels so fucking good. But if he can just shut this out, it'll be fine. Don't think about it. Don't react. Don't-

Itchy sucks on his ass and Matchsticks can't help it, he gasps out and his hips rock back against the sudden intense sensation of suction. He's felt that before when getting fucked especially hard, when Quarters will pull out and there's that moment just before he pops out when he's left with his whole body clenching around him and trying to drag Quarters right back inside. He's never felt that without a cock inside of him and it's so strange and yet so good and the moan just comes right out of him. Itchy laughs, the suction breaking just so Itchy can smugly ask, "There we fucking go. That's an honest reaction." 

"Shut up," He snaps back and Itchy just laughs harder, and then his tongue is right back at it, long hard licks over his entrance that turn into Itchy tongue-fucking him. And now that he's made any noise at all, he can't hold back anything else. His cock bobs and his breathing comes loud and ragged as he feels himself get harder and harder with every lick from Itchy. It feels so good and he hates it. 

Itchy shouldn't be able to make him feel this good. Itchy shouldn't be able to make him moan, but he is moaning, and then he's even speaking, mumbling out, "Fuck, Itchy, stop teasing me like this." 

Those greedy hands hold tighter to Matchsticks thighs and encourage him to rock back and forth, and he does, hating himself so desperately even as his hips move the way Itchy wants. It's the way Matchsticks wants them to move too. It feels good. It shouldn't feel this good, but it does. He lets out another loud moan, the noise just coaxing its way out of him-

"Itchy, keep it down!" There's a banging at the door and Matchsticks goes pale. Oh no, no no no, that's Quarters, that's him, oh fuck if he comes in here-

"Go fuck yourself!" Itchy yells out from underneath Matchsticks. His eyes look up at Matchsticks and with a positively evil look in his eyes, he yells out, "Unless you want to come in here and join me!" 

"No!" Matchsticks hisses. Itchy just waggles his eyebrows. He struggles to get up but Itchy gives him another lick and he’s left shoving a hand over his mouth to stay silent. Don’t let Quarters hear him, because he’ll know that it’s Matchsticks by the way he sounds. 

“You’re a disgusting little shit.” Quarters snaps from the other side of the door. 

“You should see the whore I’ve got this time, he’s a real fucking slut. Just listen to him.” And Itchy whispers up to Matchsticks. “You better moan real nice and loud for him, or I’ll get up and throw open that door.” 

“I’ll fucking kill you-” Matchsticks hisses, but Itchy gets back to work, his mouth firmly fixed on Matchsticks’ asshole as he starts to lick and suck again. Even a few of his fingers creep up and into Matchsticks’ crack, quickly joining the tongue. They push into him and Matchsticks bites the inside of his mouth hard. It has no right to feel this good, but it does. It feels amazing having Itchy finger fuck him. He feels Itchy’s other hand squeeze his thigh, a reminder that he can’t keep quiet, not unless he wants Quarters to come through the door. So, he pitches his voice up and he moans, and it comes out high and breathy and nothing like himself. 

Itchy’s fingers twist inside of Matchsticks and he pulls his mouth off, still fucking Matchsticks on them as he calls out. “You hear him? Oh he really wants to ride your big fat fucking dick. Go on, slut, beg him to fuck you.” 

“Please-” Matchsticks tries so hard to sound like anything but himself. He hates how his voice shakes with real arousal and how his cock bobs when Itchy gets a third finger into him. “C-come in here and I’ll suck your dick! I’ll- I’ll eat your ass! I’d let you- I’d let you bury your cock in my throat and I’d- I’d choke on it until I was blue in the face!” 

“You can fuck ‘em too! I’ll bend him over and you can plow him straight into the sheets. C’moooon Quarters!” Itchy has his eyes locked on Matchsticks, bright and amused and just so pleased with everything. He starts squirming out from under Matchsticks but his hand stays right where it is, three fingers up Matchsticks’ ass. He gets up and in behind Matchsticks, wrapping an arm around his neck and fucking him. “He’s so fucking hard right now and desperate. I bet he’d fucking crawl over broken glass to get to you.” 

“I would, I would do anything if you’d fuck me!” He cries out and it’s not a lie. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to have Quarters inside of him right now. He groans and he hears Quarters responding with that low throaty sound he always makes when turned on. He’s not sure what’s worse - if he walks in here and sees what’s happening, or if Quarters leaves Matchsticks alone with Itchy. 

There’s nothing but silence for a long time, long enough that the only sound is Matchsticks moaning each time Itchy thrusts his fingers in. Then Quarters slams a hand against the wall and clicks his beak loudly. “You’re a fucking weirdo.” 

“Yeah, but I’m a weirdo who’s doing a lot of fucking!” Itchy yells back. Quarters just stomps off, disappearing and Matchsticks feels that fucked up tangle of relief and misery swelling in his chest. Itchy seems to sense it because he’s pulls himself up, straining until he’s high enough to rest his chin on Matchsticks’ back. “Wow, you are really fucking wet for his goddamn dick, aren’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Matchsticks mutters, still afraid that Quarters might hear him somehow. Itchy just laughs and grabs at Matchstick’s ass, both hands squeezing his cheeks and then giving them each a hard slap. Matchsticks’ hips jerk up and away from Itchy’s hands and he turns his head to glare down at Itchy as best he can. 

“You really want me to shut up?” Itchy’s grinning as he lets his hand slide back, pressing his thumb into Matchsticks’ asshole. It slides in easy after all the attention he’s been getting and Matchsticks hates how his face twists up at the sensation. Itchy just drags his thumb in and out of Matchsticks, smirking as Matchsticks’ face struggles to stay furious. “Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought. C’mon, lighten up, having a little fun with it. You’re already this deep in. Might as well go all the way.” 

The thumb twists and Matchsticks groans, hating how good it feels, and how much he suddenly misses it when Itchy pulls it it out. Itchy sprawls back on the bed, pausing to cram a pillow under his back to prop him up. He wraps his fist around his cock and strokes it a few times, waggling it at Matchsticks. 

“Take a seat. I want you to bounce all over my cock. Fuck, you’ve got great legs Matchsticks, I’ve been thinking about how they’re going to flex just right when you get moving.” He pats his thigh and Matchsticks grits his teeth as he crawls backwards on the bed, hovering himself over Itchy. Matchsticks gets his knees settled on the bed on either side of Itchy’s thighs and his hand feels around to try get a hold of his cock. Itchy’s vibrating with excitement. “Yeah, that’s it, get my dick, I want to see you take it. You want it too, don’t you?” 

He can’t help himself, he has to say something. “How am I supposed to know when it goes in? You’ll tell me?” 

Itchy laughs, a nasty little cackle, and slaps Matchsticks’ ass again. “You’re fucking hilarious! Yeah yeah, I got a real small dick, don’t I? Pretty hard to measure up to Quarters’ massive fucking cock. I could shove my arm up your ass if you want, that’s nearly the same thing, right? Buuut that’s all about you, and this is all about me. So. It doesn’t matter if you know when I’m in, just that I do.” 

Matchsticks rolls his eyes but he feels at least a little smug that he scored one point, even if it was a small one. He holds Itchy’s cock still and starts to sink down on him. He’s so used to doing this with Quarters that he keeps expecting to feel it before it does. Instead, he has to sink low before he even really feels Itchy’s hips, and finally the head of his cock pushing against Matchsticks’ entrance. 

At least he slides in easy. He’s so small and Matchsticks is opened up enough that he just feels Itchy push in. He’s about as big as one of Quarters’ fingers and after he’s had a tongue in him and his own fingers, it’s not overwhelming. It’s still noticeable, even as small as it is, and he doesn’t need to ask if it’s in - he can hear Itchy moan and squeeze Matchsticks ass. 

Another good thing - he’s getting to face away and stare at the door instead. He starts to bounce like Itchy wants, though the first one is too big and Itchy pops out. He has to get himself slid in again, and he just… he snaps back, “With a cock this small, it would be easier if you just fucked me?”

“Hey, who’s in charge here? You? Me? Pretty sure it’s me. And what I want, you fucking slut, is to see you bouncing on me like you’re riding a pony. So-” And Itchy puts both hands on Matchsticks hips, giving him a shove up and down, showing him exactly how much he can move. “Bounce away, you fucking whore, and make me feel reeeeeal good.” 

Matchsticks grits his teeth and does exactly what Itchy wants. He rises and falls, and though it takes a little time to get used to it, he manages to get a good rhythm going. His cock bobs up and down as he rises, and Itchy seems to be enjoying himself, as the little fuck can barely bring himself to take his hands off of Matchsticks. They keep stroking over his ass, squeezing it or pushing his cheeks apart to get a better view of his cock sliding in and out of Matchsticks asshole. 

He just keeps his hands on his knees and uses them to keep himself upright as he fucks himself down on Itchy. Matchsticks hates this. He’s so used to being on top of Quarters and having that mountain of flesh to climb and claim. Itchy’s so small compared to him and it would take hardly any effort to pin him down or hurt him. But he’s left in this position, letting this fucking two-pump chump fuck him like he’s earned the right to do this. 

“Fuuuuck, y’know, I would have thought Quarters would have ruined your asshole and you’d just be nothing but a fucking gaping shotgun wound,” Itchy says and though he can’t see his face, Matchsticks knows he’s got that disgusting smile on his face that he makes when he’s come up with some particularly ‘clever’ and disgusting way of insulting him. “But you’re still tight enough for me. So how’s that work? You wear plugs? You practice clenching?”

“You’re disgusting,” Matchsticks mutters. He hates Itchy so much. This is humiliating and he doesn’t know what’s worse - having to hear Itchy’s mouth flap and spill out every fucking thing on his mind, or feeling his tiny cock push in and out of Matchsticks? 

No… no, the worst is that he can feel his ass starting to clench up around Itchy because even though he shouldn’t like any of this, even though he’s smaller than Quarters and he’s making Matchsticks do all the work, it still feels good bouncing up and down on him. Quarters is big - maybe a little too big sometimes. There are nights when he’s left desperately trying to get Quarters off as quickly as he can. 

There’s no timeline here and that means that he’s left rocking down on Itchy’s cock at a slower pace. It means that he’s being given more time to appreciate how sensitive he is, how good it feels to have the head of Itchy’s dick tug a little at his entrance as it nearly pulls out, only to push right back in again. Maybe his prostate isn’t getting rammed but he’s paying attention to the rest of his asshole and it feels good for all the same reasons that rimming and fingering do. His face wavers and he’s grateful he’s facing away because there’s nothing more nightmarish than having Itchy notice how much Matchsticks’ body likes this. 

“What’s wrong Matchsticks?” Itchy squeezes his ass. His voice is dripping with an unreasonable amount of smugness. “Aww, don’t tell me - do you actually like my dick?”

“Fuck off,” He says and bites the inside of his cheeks as soon as the words come out, his voice a little softer than he wants it to be. No, fuck, fuck, this isn’t what he wanted. He shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is. This is giving Itchy want he wants-

“Come on, come on, keep going. Don’t stop now.” Itchy gives Matchsticks hips another tug, forcing him to get back to bouncing. It’s awful. 

Matchsticks cheeks burn and he hates it. This is miserable. His asshole is squeezing and even without a hand on his cock or anything pushing on his prostate, his cock is leaking, the head glistening with precum. It drips and rolls down the head, and he feels it trail over the base of his shaft, shaking free as he sinks down on Itchy’s cock. And then-

Itchy stops him, his hand holding Matchsticks up. “Or do you want me to stop? I could jerk off right now and let you walk back to your room with your hardon. That’s what you want right? So you can tell yourself ‘yeah I fucked him, but I didn’t come’.” His voice is sly. The head of his cock is inside of Matchsticks, pulling gently at the entrance, threatening to pull out at a moment’s notice. “C’moooon. Ask me for it. Tell me how much you don’t really want to come doing this.” 

He wants to. Fuck, he wants to. The thing to do is to call Itchy’s bluff and ignore how much he wants to come. But all he can think about is the way the head keeps tugging on his asshole, the suction making him want to squirm. He doesn’t want to leave, he- 

He wants to come. Matchsticks wants to come on Itchy’s cock, fucking himself just like this. “Just let me finish.”

“Are those the magic words?” He squeezes Matchsticks’ ass, fingers digging into his cheeks. “How about you give me a pretty please?”

Matchsticks closes his eyes. He swallows his pride. The only thing he can focus on is how good Itchy’s cock feels. “Please. Pretty please… let me. Finish.” 

“Listen to you go. Alright, alright. Get back to it. And get loud. Let me know how much you love it.” His hands tug him down, his cock pushing back inside and Matchsticks moans and he’s too relieved to hate himself right now. He’ll do that later. For the moment, all he can think of is how good it feels to have that cock inside of him. He bounces on it harder than before, grunting when Itchy’s hands slide around his hips and to the front of him, finally starting to touch his cock and balls. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Fucking feel how hard you are, you slut. I didn’t have to touch you even once. All this because of my tongue and dick in your asshole. You love it. Say it.”

“I l-loved it,” He moans out. Matchsticks fucks himself on Itchy and all he can focus on is how good it feels to have his shaft push in and out. He’s so hard right now, so fucking hard, and so desperate. Those nasty little fingers squeeze his balls and Itchy’s hand runs up and down the shaft of Matchsticks cock, smearing precum over him. “Fuck, Itchy, don’t stop-” 

“Yeah yeah yeah, oh fuck I won’t, I’m not stopping at all. Fucking keep at it, keep taking my dick, just like that. C’mon champ, c’mon. I want to hear you coming. I want to feel you make a big ol’ mess for me.” Itchy’s filthy and his hands are busy, on him and it’s just all building up. Matchsticks tries not to think about anything other than how much he wants to come - not what he’s doing, not what he’s saying, and especially not that he’s letting Itchy do this to him. 

A moan comes out of him and he just keeps rocking down on Itchy. Matchsticks can’t help it - he sits right on him and just takes his cock all the way in. He rocks on it, the head of it rubbing against his inside. It’s so satisfying to grind down on him before he lifts himself up again and resumes bouncing. Itchy groans too and his hips thrust up, humping Matchsticks from below while Matchsticks fucks down from above. The build is so slow but it’s impossible to ignore, his balls tightening and his asshole clenching around him.

It’s the hard slap to his ass as he lifts himself up that catches him off guard, and then Itchy’s shoving his hips up into Matchsticks, “Yeah slut, fucking take it, fucking come for me. Come hard enough for Quarters to hear-” And it’s so wrong, but he does exactly what Itchy wants - he groans far too loud and he comes right on the bedspread, Itchy’s hands on his cock and his dick inside of Matchsticks. His thighs shake and he feels nothing but relief as he finally comes. 

He falls forward on the bed, his hands slipping from his thighs to the mattress. Itchy keeps humping him, fucking Matchsticks. He closes his eyes and expects that Itchy will come in him and then this will be over.

But he doesn’t. He pulls out and the little zippy asshole comes around to the head of the bed, yanking Matchsticks’ head up. Itchy’s other hand jerks his cock off quick and hard, pointing it straight at Matchsticks’ face like it’s a gun. “C’mon, c’mon, get ready, get fucking ready, mouth open. Yeah, yeah that’s it, give me that fucking look-”

Matchsticks doesn’t have much time to react. He only barely gets his eyes closed, opening his mouth to tell him off. “Itchy-” is all he gets out before Itchy’s groaning and Matchsticks feels him come on his face, hot sticky jets of cum squirting over his cheek and partly in his mouth. The taste is awful and he tries to jerk away, but Itchy keeps his hand on Matchsticks, forcing him to stay put. 

“Yeeeeeah, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck yeah. Oh yeah, fuck, you slut. You fucking whore. Ah, look at you.” Itchy’s voice ruins any of the nice glow he felt from coming, and the humiliation of having Itchy come on his face just dredges up the rest of the awful feelings in his gut. He can’t believe he let himself forget for even a moment that Itchy was-

“You’re fucking awful.” Matchsticks mutters and spits out the cum that got in his mouth, feeling it leak over his lips. Itchy laughs and lets go of him. Then the hears the horrible tell-tale sound of a camera snap and his eyes fly open, just in time to look down the barrel of the camera. “Itchy!” 

“What? You thought I wasn’t going to get an after picture? But uh, hold up, we’re not done yet. I want you to rub it in.” Itchy keeps the camera in front of his face, his eye on the viewfinder as he winds the film. “Smear it all over your skin. I gave you some real nice moisturizer. Better make it last. C’mon.” 

“Fuck you.” Matchsticks snarls. He wants to tear the camera out of Itchy’s hands and throw it out the window. He wants to hit him, to kill him right here and now. “You got what you want-”

“I got most of what I wanted. This is the last thing I want. So c’mon. Be nice. You do this for me, and I get rid of those photos, and I keep these guys for my trophy collection, and nobody ever knows what really happened. So?” He raises his head a little, waggling his brows. “C’moooon. You already did everything else. What’s one more picture, right?” 

Matchsticks clenches his fists. He thinks about the photos - the ones of him and Quarters in bed. If he gets rid of those, then these don’t matter. Fucking Itchy won’t matter. Even if someone sees them, even if Quarters sees them, he won’t care. They can both fuck other people on the side. So long as it’s not their charm, it’s fine. And so long as those photos of Quarters being sweet never get seen, then Matchsticks can have it all. He can keep his charm and he can forget this ever happened. 

He raises his fingers to his face and he rubs the cum in. He smears it over his face, trying not to show how disgusted he is. Even Quarters hasn’t made him do this. The cum smears over his cheeks and along his chin. It goes over his lips and Itchy is nearly vibrating with excitement as Matchsticks drags his fingers along his temples and up his forehead, smearing the sticky white stuff even there. His face is wet and all he can smell is Itchy’s musky cum-smell on him. 

“Smile.” Itchy says. Matchsticks raises his face to the camera and he smiles as best he can while the camera clicks.


End file.
